


No Really, I Don't Work Here

by seekeronthepath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, POV Derek, Pining Derek, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6276760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekeronthepath/pseuds/seekeronthepath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek does not, in fact, work at the coffee shop where Stiles is a regular. And no, Erica and Boyd, he isn't one of the owners, either. He just hangs out there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Really, I Don't Work Here

He was back again. In fact, he was back every Wednesday, the guy with the brown hair and the moles and the amazing ass. And with another guy. Just like every Wednesday.

Derek sighed, and attempted to turn his attention back to his computer, but he couldn’t help listening in.

“Look, Janet’s really, really good at second-hand books,” Brown-Hair-And-Moles said as he walked in. “But she is _so_ frustrating with the rest of the business. She still – still! – won’t let me order books online. Everything has to be done on the phone, for some _ridiculous_ reason. It takes so much longer! And I forget things!”

“Have you asked why?” Crooked-Jaw-Hopefully-Not-Cute-Guy’s-Boyfriend replied.

Brown-Hair-And-Moles stuttered and flailed in a way that really shouldn’t be attractive. “…no,” he eventually admitted. “But she does it with everything! Even the chocolate and stuff! There is no goddamn reason for ordering _chocolate_ on the phone.”

It had the feeling of a well-worn, well-loved rant – honestly, most Wednesdays Brown-Hair-And-Moles ended up complaining (affectionately) about his boss. It didn’t seem to bother Crooked-Jaw that their (probably not?) dates were monopolised by work stories – and to be fair, Crooked-Jaw talked a lot about the animals wherever _he_ worked. (Derek didn’t really want to admit he’d listened in often enough that he knew exactly where Crooked-Jaw worked, and that Crooked Jaw’s name was Scott, and that Brown-Hair-And-Moles’ name was Stiles, and that Stiles was single. Derek wasn’t a creeper. Really.)

 

Stiles and Scott had just reached the tail end of the rather long lunch queue when Derek was distracted by a quiet “damn” from Boyd, who was manning the till. Boyd _never_ swore. Derek closed his laptop, put it in the staffroom, and came around behind the counter. The problem was immediately obvious: the cash drawer wouldn’t open.

“I’m going to have to restart it,” Boyd murmured. “We don’t have time for that.”

“You deal with the computer, I’ll handle the customers,” Derek replied, equally quietly. He looked at Erica, who was their barista at the moment. “Right.” He pulled out a notebook from under the counter, and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re very sorry, but we’re having issues with the cash register. If you are able to pay by cash, we ask that you form a separate queue in front of me, and have ready as correct change as possible. Thank you for your patience.”

Erica gave him an amused look, even if there was anxiety underneath it. He wasn’t exactly known for his ‘customer service’ attitude. Hell, that’s why he’d never really worked in Moonshadow, only funded it. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t help Boyd and Erica out in an emergency. Derek started serving customers while Boyd wrestled with the computer, tallying things up on the notepad and using the tip jar as a float when he needed change.

 

By the time Stiles got to the head of the queue (Scott having left to reserve a table, Derek assumed), the computer had restarted, but the problem wasn’t fixed.

“What’s the issue?” Stiles asked curiously.

Derek gave him a disbelieving look. Really? Now?

“Cash drawer won’t open,” Boyd reported glumly. “Seems to be software, not mechanical.”

“Have you tried restarting the receipt machine?” Stiles suggested. “I mean, I know it’s frustrating getting suggestions from a random stranger, but I’ve had a similar issue at the bookshop and…”

Just then, the receipt machine started spitting out paper and the cash drawer popped open. “It actually worked?” Erica exclaimed, eyes almost popping out of her head. “Shit, I could kiss you.”

Stiles held up his hands, ducking his head. “Gay, I’m afraid,” he demurred.

“Fine then, _he_ can kiss you,” Erica replied, jerking a thumb at Derek. Derek glared at Erica, trying not to blush.

“Yeaaah, no,” Stiles said. “He looks like he’d rather rip my throat out than kiss me.”

Erica rolled her eyes. “He just has Resting Bitch Face. Anyway. Free coffee, then?”

“Hot chocolate,” Derek said automatically. Erica and Stiles turned to stare at him, and he really _did_ blush this time.

“You know my order?” Stiles asked, nonplussed. “How do you know my order? You’re always on break when I get here.”

“He doesn’t work here,” Boyd put in.

“Well, he clearly _is_ working here,” Stiles pointed out. “He’s been working here for like half-an-hour.”

“I’m a friend of the owners,” Derek muttered, ducking his head.

Erica rolled her eyes. “Giving us an indefinite, interest-free ‘loan’ _makes_ you an owner, idiot.”

“Uh, do you think you could get your coffee now?” the woman behind Stiles asked. “It’s just, you’ve been talking for a while, and my lunch break ends soon…”

“Shit, sorry!” Stiles said, startled. “Regular hot chocolate, large cappuccino, blueberry muffin, ham and cheese croissant.” He put fifteen bucks on the counter. “Keep any change for the tip jar.”

“Coming right up,” Erica told him. “I’ll have Derek bring it over.”

 

It was closer to ten minutes than five before Derek could get away to get Stiles and Scott their drinks. “Sorry about the wait,” he said. “Give me a minute and I’ll get your food to you.”

“It’s fine,” Scott said, smiling. “You’re obviously all working really hard.”

“Boyd has things back under control now,” Derek replied, looking at Stiles. “Thanks to you.”

Stiles grinned, ducking his head. “It’s no big deal. It happened to me once with like two people in the shop and it freaked me the fuck out. You guys were doing pretty well.”

“So how come I’ve never seen you working here before?” Scott asked.

“Look,” Derek said. “If you’re just making small talk, don’t bother, I’ll grab your food and leave you to it. If you actually do want to talk to me, I’ll get your food, and then I’m going to sit down. Okay?”

Stiles glanced at his watch. “Actually, uh…Derek? That’s your name, right? Shit, I’m sorry about this, I really do want to stay, but I only get a half-hour lunch, so…raincheck?”

Derek gave Stiles a confused look.

“You’re here every Wednesday – are you here other days as well?” Stiles went on. “Cause I could cancel on Scott next week, but that wouldn’t really seem fair, and on the other hand, I could just come in tomorrow or Friday or something during my lunch break so we could have coffee.”

“I hang out here most days,” Derek said, answering the only actual question in all that.

Stiles grinned. “Cool! I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“…yes?” Derek replied.

“Great. It’s a date.” Stiles got up and went to the counter, Scott following him, leaving Derek standing there, confused. A date?

“Did I just get a date with Stiles?” he wondered aloud.


End file.
